


Starstruck Business Plans

by BlackCatWithACaptorHat



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Alternate Universe, Business, F/F, F/M, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-07-05
Updated: 2013-08-09
Packaged: 2017-12-17 17:56:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,364
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/870323
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BlackCatWithACaptorHat/pseuds/BlackCatWithACaptorHat
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Karkat Vantas works at the customer service department of an office supply company. The company has a stupid way of ranking how good you are at your job- golden stars on a board. Karkat wants to get the most gold stars he can so that he can get a promotion. He can't figure it out for the life of him, so what does he do? He sweet talks the technician with a lisp into helping him. Written from Karkat's PoV.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

  * For [meeping-kankri](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=meeping-kankri).



The board hung on the wall is littered with golden star stickers. They are seperated into rows, and each row has a name on it. There is Karkat, with twelve golden stars, Gamzee, with eighteen golden stars, Dave, with nine golden stars, Tavros, with seven golden stars, and Sollux, with thirteen golden stars. It’s a, as Gamzee would say, ‘motherfucking miracle’ that Gamzee has eighteen stars. He does nothing more than sit around and build ridiculous contraptions with office supplies. Dave hardly does anything, really, yet he manages to get a decent number of stars himself. He likes to point it out every so often and laugh about the irony in it. Karkat’s in third place with his amount of stars; that isn't good enough. Not for Karkat Vantas, it isn’t.


	2. So How's Work?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Your name is Karkat Vantas. You are twenty-four years of age. You have short black hair that some may even consider curly. You have freckles under your eyes, on the bridge of your nose, and dotted about on your neck and shoulders. Your eyes are dark brown. You keep meaning to get glasses, as you need them badly, but you haven’t been able to earn the money to do so. You work at a shitty company that makes shitty office supplies and other shitty services related to offices. Your job is to answer the phone and talk to morons who can’t work a stapler or a printer or whatever the fuck it is they’re needing help with. You’re actually rather glad you’re stuck with this job and not some other one. At least with this one you can hear that the customers are just as pissed off as you are.

Your name is Karkat Vantas. You are twenty-four years of age. You have short black hair that some may even consider curly. You have freckles under your eyes, on the bridge of your nose, and dotted about on your neck and shoulders. Your eyes are dark brown. You keep meaning to get glasses, as you need them badly, but you haven’t been able to earn the money to do so. You work at a shitty company that makes shitty office supplies and other shitty services related to offices. Your job is to answer the phone and talk to morons who can’t work a stapler or a printer or whatever the fuck it is they’re needing help with. You’re actually rather glad you’re stuck with this job and not some other one. At least with this one you can hear that the customers are just as pissed off as you are.

Your routine is simple- wake up, eat breakfast, shower, throw on some clothes, get to work, clock in, work, eat lunch, work, clock out, leave work, go home, eat dinner, screw around on the computer, then sleep. It’s been that way for about three years now. It gets tedious, sure, but don’t all things get that way after a while? Like, for example, your relationship with your workplace’s technician, Sollux. It’s always been the same- dumbass remarks, pointles bantering that goes back and forth for so long, then just plain ignoring. You’ve been meaning to try and bring your relationship to the next level, if it can even be called a relationship. Does he even consider you two friends? Wait. He invited you over for dinner once. But Eridan was there, too- didn’t you all play Monopoly that night? Shit. No one ever invites friends to play Monopoly. He doesn't even consider you his friend! Just.. Just calm down, Karkat. You’re over analyzing this. It’s fine, he’s your friend. You know he is. You’ve been friends since, what, seventh grade? Maybe it was eigth. Regardless, you’re friends. Totally friends. He’s your friend who you have a little homo crush on. So what? That’s normal, isn’t it? ... Isn’t it?

 

An ear twisting sharp sound drags you out from a hypnotic trance called sleep. You groan and roll over, laying there for another moment, then slam your hand on the alarm clock and fumble for the off button. You hit it and throw the covers off of your warm body. Another groan and several half-hearted attempts to sit up later, you take a deep breath and force yourself to roll off your bed and stand on the carpet. You idly sit there for a while longer, wobbling on your feet a little, and then finally stretch, yawn, pop your back and head to the kitchen.

And _damn_ are those kitchen tiles cold. Cold as fucking ice. You hiss in discomfort, doing an awkward little jig-like thing to the coffee pot. Your hand does the motions of turning it on, grabbing a cup from the cupboard, replacing the filter, adding the water, putting in the coffee grinds, and starting it up. While the coffee pot does its job of serving you delicious fucking bitter coffee, you go and grab a clean shirt, pants, underwear, and socks and head for the bathroom. You hardly feel like you’re doing anything; it’s just... routine. Same old stuff. It’s mechanical, almost. Auto-pilot. That stuff. You turn on the light of the bathroom and watch the three bulbs flicker to life. The third one is a little wavery, but you think it will last for a few more weeks.

You were wrong- the bulb sparks out at that very moment and leaves the room somewhat darker. You sigh in frustration and hang your clothes on the rack while you brush your teeth. Your hand reaches for the holder containing the toothbrush, grabs your good old green toothbrush, and then sets it down so you can turn on the water and get toothpaste. Your toothbrush isn’t anything fancy, though. It’s the simplest design; just a stick and some bristle. You twist open the cap of your Crest brand toothpaste, squeeze a dab on the brush, rinse it a little under the now running water, and bring it to your mouth to scrape at your teeth and sensitive gums.

Fucking dentists. Tell you your gums are sensitive as they jab you with a God damn needle. Dentists are going to burn in Hell. You are positive of this fact. You grind away at your teeth and finally spit in the sink, rinsing off your toothbrush and putting it back in its place. You take some time to stare at yourself in the mirror.

Your hair is messy, as always, and you don’t plan on fixing it. Eyes still have those dark bags under them. A grumpy expression is plastered firmly on your face. All as it should be. With a content hum, you shrug your shirt off, tossing it in the laundry basket outside the bathroom door, then toss in your boxers along with it. You grab your new pair of briefs and tug them on, grab your pants and jab one leg in, then try and dance them on while putting on your shirt. You slip and hit your head on the doorknob before falling backwards, head hitting the carpet with a dull thud. You moan in pain, sitting up and rubbing at your scalp. Real fucking smooth, Vantas. You finish putting on your traitorous jeans and button them and zip up. With a simple pulling motion your socks are on your feet, and you are walking back to the kitchen to get yourself some disgusting ass coffee. Yuck.

 

It is so fucking cold outside. There's a few snowflakes falling down from the grey sky, and a few of them land in your hair. You shove your hands further into the pockets of your umber colored jacket. Why didn’t they cancel work? The weatherman clearly said it was going to snow a metric shit-ton tonight. Well, he didn’t use those exact words, but whatever. You’re gonna be pissed if you have to walk home in a blizzard. Then, as if just to spite you, a snowflake lands on your nose. Your arm flies up to rub at the offending crystal, and you snort. Fucking snow. Fucking weather. Fucking winter. Fucking life.

“Hey, dipshit, the coffee maker’s broken,” you spit at Sollux as if it was his fault that it broke. “KK, chill, calm your titth. I’ll fix it later. I’m on my break now,” he replies, fingers rapidly tapping on the keyboard of his laptop. You grunt, shuffling over to sit in the chair beside him. “Whatcha writing?” you ask, your eyes scanning over the many lines of text present on the screen. “Oh, jutht a thing,” he says. “Wow, _real_ helpful, Sollux.” You roll your eyes, and he snorts. “Fine. It’th a thtory for a friend. It’th about—” he begins, but you cut him off. “I don’t care that much, beebuzz.” You crack a grin at the frustrated and annoyed look he gives you. “Later, Sollux,” you say as you scoot your chair out and make your way out of the break room. You let out a satisfied sigh. Your name is Karkat Vantas, and today marks the day that your plan to get the manager position is set in motion.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> yeah, i know this is pretty short, but that's something i've always had trouble with, and i'm working on it. to be honest, this is actually one of the longest stories i have saved on my computer. so ah, yeah! i hope you guys enjoy! let me know what you think in the comments, and please let me know if you see any mistakes. i hope all you lovelies have a beautiful day/night! uwu


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